I Gave Up On Happiness
by NeverHadDreams
Summary: When she sat still and didn't say anything were the times that Carlisle hated himself the most.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hey ! How are you all? This is my first story on this website, and I hope you all read and review. I don't really know that much about my strengths and weaknesses yet, reviews are much appreciated. Thanks for reading. **_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. The hot Carlisle (hes my favorite ever), the sad Esme (love her too), or the pee brained Edward (He he.) **_

* * *

When she sat still and didn't say anything were the times that Carlisle hated himself the most.

Her eyes, now a cold burgundy, stared at nothing but some sadness lurked behind them. Her red lips would pull down into a straight line, and she would make all of her features neutral. This always completed her neutral mask; when her face would conceal itself from Edward.

He knew she had endured much in her twenty six years, more than even himself and Edward combined could have witnessed in their human years. She was hard to the world now. He understood that. What he didn't understand, or maybe he didn't want to, he couldn't decide, was why she didn't want to talk about it. Usually when he saw a patient in the same situation as she, they wanted to talk. Vent, explain, and beg him to make it better, but she handled, or maybe she didn't, her grief without any other person's, living or dead, help. She didn't want to talk; she wouldn't look at him after he had taught her how to hunt.

Something about her drew Carlisle in and, as much as he hated to admit it, he wanted her to speak. She hadn't used her voice, her new voice, since she was changed. All she'd said was, "I'm thirsty." The only other time she used her voice was when she wanted to go on a walk or to use her simple manners. She seemed decent; he _knew_ she was decent. What he didn't understand about this, was how such a beautiful girl ended up with such a sick and twisted husband. It baffled him. Shouldn't she have the ability to make that decision for her? He had. He had been in what he thought to be love, now he saw he was infatuated with the illusion of love, it hadn't been love in the least, merely an obsession with something he'd once known.

This was her. And that is what killed him on the inside. How someone so vibrant, so radiant, so forgiving and friendly, had been dealt such a horrible hand in life. He knew her; knew much about her. She was Esme Anne Platt, the same girl who had climbed a tree about ten years ago and broke her leg, and she was here. She was the only girl Carlisle had thought about for months, _years_, after he'd first seen her. Edward had threatened him with numerous ways to die…again, he thought wryly. Carlisle hadn't cared, that silly illusion had presented itself again, and this time, he knew it was no illusion. The way he eyes, already light, would positively glisten at the sight of him. And her lips would pull into the softest, warmest smile he'd ever known. How he longed for that now.

She was in this mood now, it was night time, and she didn't do much at night. It seemed to Carlisle that she was horribly reluctant to give up her human life. She still thought that if she closed her eyes and lay down, she would drift into a dreamless sleep. Wrong.

Apparently, and he got this information from Edward, she had been sitting like this, still and looking as dead as she was, for hours. He had lamented that her walk was shorter than usual and her thoughts tormented Edward more than the other boy cared to say. Carlisle knew that Edward already had a strange, child and mother like connection with Esme. He knew her thoughts, he knew her fears. He couldn't help it.

Carlisle pulled the jacket tighter around his shoulders, gesturing Edward with a strong hand, to follow him out the back door of their small house in Ashland Wisconsin and into the night. Edward followed, bringing with him a look of sorrow. They walked in silence, neither man daring to split the settled and comfortable peace with talk of her.

The night was so different from her. It was vibrant and beautiful, like the woman she used to be. The crickets were playing a high, keening tune that had filtered into their ears from the prairie behind the house. The light bugs, bottoms flashing, flew around in the air, lighting the way; not that either needed to see it. The wind played gently, almost playfully, in the tall prairie grass that caught the scent of small wood violets just getting ready to bloom. The sky was an inky blanket of something dangerously familiar to both men.

It seemed funny to him, Carlisle, how something so familiar, night, could become so imposing when you looked at it from a different light. Being a vampire made night seem to be the time of day when everything was to become dark and sultry. Stalking your quarry, preying upon poor human girls that didn't know better, letting the blood flow, free and dark, over yourself happened in the night. It seemed that darkness did exactly what it aimed to do; it bathed the world around Carlisle and Edward into the inky blackness that any predator would love. Carlisle simply found the darkness to be very nice, cool, and familiar after this long week of many changes.

He had known he couldn't just leave her, so why was it looking to be the better option now? Carlisle trodden on one of the delicate blue flowers with a growl low in his throat, simply acting on impulse, his lips pulled back; exposing his teeth. Why was she making his world so hard to live in? He had things to do, a household to play father in. He was sick of her trampling upon the territory, that for so long, had belonged to him and Edward. He was sick of her moping-.

"Your thoughts are malicious tonight, Carlisle." Edward sighed with a glance at the ground.

Carlisle shook his head, not daring to look at Edward. At these times, Carlisle wished he could have been a father in his human years; he needed the practice. What did he say to that? Why, yes, they are. He chuckled silently beside Edward. No, that wasn't right.

They kept walking, attempting to get out of her hearing range. Carlisle wondered if she would even hear them. Sometimes, she got so wrapped in her thoughts she wouldn't hear them say anything to her. It was as if she inhabited a different world than them sometimes. Esme was plainly a very delicate matter around this household. "Sorry." He murmured gruffly to Edward. His hands flew into his pockets, he was afraid that if he didn't have them in his pocket, then he would take all of his frustration out on some poor tree. He raised his eyes from the forest floor, glancing repentantly at Edward.

Edward glanced at something far away in the night. "It can't be healthy for her." He whispered, his face, from where Carlisle could see, twisting into a mask of pain. "She thinks about..._things_, Carlisle. Her mind's eye is so vivid." Edward turned to look at Carlisle. "She can't be doing this for any reason... Nothing, human _or_ vampire, would want to dwell on some of the things she does. She has a hard time letting go. She's afraid. She misses her child. She needs _something_... but I haven't a clue what." He shook his head. "I know so much about her, but I can't, really, understand her, until she talks."

Carlisle knew as much but didn't point it out. He knew that Edward was ready to be rebellious again. Edward had already pulled that on his once before and Carlisle didn't want to deal with all of that, plus Esme right now. He may have been a vampire, and he may be very smart, but as he had already admitted, children weren't really his thing. Edward wasn't a child; Edward was a respected member of his family, as far as Carlisle was concerned. "I know." Carlisle replied his mind already thinking up a thousand different reactions to his asking her to speak.

She could be gracious, just have been waiting for a chance to take this invitation. Then she would talk for hours, telling him everything. Carlisle actually laughed out loud at that suggestion, lifting the protective blockade he'd built around his head and letting those brief thoughts filter to Edward. Edward smiled graciously, sinking, in his usual graceful way, to the forest floor.

She could, on the other hand, be very closed and anxious about this suggestion. And that seemed way more likely from Esme. It broke Carlisle's heart that Esme wouldn't open up to him again. When he had nursed her broken leg, all those years ago, she had talked to him for hours at the Hospital in her small, badly lit room. She had talked about her insufferable mother and old fashioned father, she had talked about her wishes for the future, she had even talked about her soon to be husband in a favorable light. Where had that Esme gone?

He shook his head, something she had said, her eyes a light, her mouth in a smile, tugging at his memory like a small child whipping the table cloth out from under a table of food. "Oh!" He let out a sharp breath that he shouldn't have inhaled; he was shocked at his revelation. He, then, whispered her words. "'I don't have dreams, Carlisle.'" Her words had been hard; her voice contorting around his name like it was sweet candy. Her eyes had revealed something so... deep and breathtakingly beautiful about her. Carlisle remembered holding his breath. "'I only have night mares.'" Her seriousness seemed to be so much better than her silence.

Edward smiled wryly, his nearly black eyes twinkling. "I'm going hunting." He whispered in the black silence.

Carlisle, from hunting with him so many times, could picture Edward's typical loss of humanity. His eyes would sharpen, his senses would focus into nothing but the hunt. And he was a malicious hunter, but Carlisle also knew Edward well enough to know that Edward was a masochist. He would torture himself for hours after the hunt, attempting to decide if he wanted to brood for an extended period. Carlisle saved himself with a second to spare from rolling his eyes. "Have a good time."

"I'm thinking on taking Esme." He whispered again.

Carlisle let his whole posture go ram rod straight. "Please, Edward." He let his walls go around one thought for a moment, he heard Edward chuckle an 'I know'. "Be careful with her. Don't push o-."

"- Or she'll pull." Edward nodded, standing. His figure, about six feet tall, was still the classical American boy look. "I promise you. She'll come back in one piece." Edward ran his hands over his black sweater, he pulled the sweater down on his bare fore arms, giving Carlisle a reassuring smile. "See you after work."

And Edward was gone.

* * *

After sitting at his desk at home, staring at a clock for about two hours, he wanted to move about but couldn't. Fear kept him seated, well, that, and trepidation. He heard a door open, he even, though he may have been tricking himself, heard a tiny trill of soprano laughter. "Thank you, Edward."

Carlisle could almost see Edward smile his boyish, lopsided grin. "You're very welcome, Esme."

Esme entered the room after the hunting trip with Edward, looking refreshed and buoyant, though there was still something lurking in her soft eyes. Her footsteps were near silent with something that looked like hesitation, and her whole posture said defeated in big, black lettering. Upon seeing Carlisle, she gasped. "I did-. I should-." I'm-."

"It's fine." He dismissed her worries with a wave. Carlisle stood, placing his hands on his chair and pushing it in slowly. He didn't want her to leave. Silently, though he was sure she could read it in his eyes, willed her to stay. "How was the trip?" He didn't care; he only cared about how she was.

Her eyes seemed to go steely very quickly. "It went well." She said, her voice was just as Carlisle knew it would be. And it shocked him to hear her speaking to him and looking at him.

Her voice wasn't soprano, but it wasn't bass either. It wasn't quite as deep as his voice, but it wasn't as high as Tanya's either. He closed his eyes, trying to bottle her voice up and keep it for when he was losing hope. Esme looked uncomfortable in this room with him. She shifted from foot to foot in an awkward dance that showed how self conscious she was. Her sweater, black like Edward's, fit her snuggly, accentuating her breasts and the curves in her stomach and hips. Her back had a deep valley before the swell of her bottom under her skirt. Her face and neck though. They were his favorite. Her eyes were a lighter burgundy now, more open to him. Her lips were fuller and a deeper red, swollen looking. Her face wasn't quite as angular as either of the men's. It was softer, more open. He loved her face. Her neck was elegant, smooth, pale. _Esme,_ his mind sighed around her name in contentment. "How was Edward? I know he can-."

Esme raised her hand. "No, Edward was the perfect gentlemen." There seemed to be another thought behind that one. Her eyes were so open, Carlisle realized with a start. He didn't need Edward's power to read it in her eyes.

Carlisle took a hesitant step toward the beautiful woman. She took a step back, drawing a breath way too fast. Her throat hurt, he could see it in her eyes. She swung her hair in front of her face. "I'm going to take a walk." It was a single breath, rushed, and she was gone.

"You shouldn't have gone to her." Edward was in the room then, wounding Carlisle's ego further, but he didn't care. Was Esme alright?

Carlisle put on his jacket, the buttery brown leather sliding into place on his muscular shoulder's with a tailored fit he had learned to appreciate. "I'm going after her."

Edward chuckled, seemingly looking at something close behind the window. "You won't have to go far." Edward smiled knowingly. "I love how _I'm_ the masochist."

Carlisle shook his head. "I don't have ti-."

She was there.

Her hair was swinging in the breeze, creating the illusion on waves of caramel surrounding her face. Her eyes were fixed on something far away, something seemingly floating in the breeze. Her skirt was fluttering around her pale legs, showing off her shapely calves and knees. Carlisle could have died when he saw the white silk of her bra peek over the corner of her shirt. He, abruptly, gasped. The swell of one pale breast was barely visible. "God." He murmured, looking at her.

Edward walked up behind him. "This is highly disturbing." He murmured to himself. "I'm going to leave, because, I, this is hard to believe, I know, don't want to see Esme undressed."

Carlisle gave him no mind, continuing to stare at her. "Yes, bye. Thanks."

Edward walked out of the room with a steady, practiced step. His human walk. Carlisle wanted to tell Edward to walk faster. That slow, calm walk mocked Carlisle.

* * *

"Carlisle?" Her voice was quiet with trepidation, and Carlisle immediately remembered how she had run from his only two hours ago. It was Esme. And it was a dusky twilight.

He looked at her too quickly; she shrunk back against the brown of the house. Carlisle stayed seated. His eyes wandered over her skin, seemingly fascinated by the smooth skin and subtle curves. "Hello." He smiled openly, inviting her to join him on the swinging bench. She scooted to the far end of the chaise. "How are you?"

She ignored his question. "I know you remember me." Her eyes locked with his, they were open again. "I remember you, but I'm sorry. Because you remember a different Esme. Much has changed since then, much has happened, Carlisle."

He gasped, looking out away from her. He could not look at her.

"I'm not that girl anymore."

He turned away as her body shook with tear less sobs.

"And I'm sorry that you remember her, because I remember you." She smiled then. Ruefully, and without any real emotion besides sadness. "I remember you so well. You were Carlisle, the doctor that made me feel... happy." Esme put her hand on his hand, he stopped breathing. "Don't think too hard on me. I'm going to leave as soon as I can. I didn't want to intrude on anything." Her voice was resolute as she bent to his ear. "I gave up on happiness."

And she disappeared; merely a part of the darkness again.

Carlisle stood, a daze settling into his mind, and started to walk. Away from the house, away from her, away from anything to do with what he had done. Faster and faster, his feet padded on the ground with a predatory preciosity. His eyes were narrowed, his lips parted to allow quick gasps of air to enter his lungs.

_I gave up on happiness. _

What a simple thing to say. She just declared that she wasn't waiting, no, that was wrong. She wasn't _expecting _anymore happiness in her life. She had given up on happiness. Carlisle wondered about that for a long while. How did one just give up on happiness? It seemed, sometimes, to be the small, unusually happy things that kept him and Edward moving forward. An eternity was a long time to be devoid of happiness... but then it occurred to him that she could be planning on killing herself again. Maybe she thought that she deserved to die, Carlisle's mind vehemently rejected this hypothesis.

Not her, it repeated over and over, _anyone but_ that girl. That girl that he loved. Anyone but her. His mind, one half anyway, wanted to know why he was running from this problem. _Don't think too hard on me_, she'd murmured to him. And that had had the opposite desired affect. He couldn't stop thinking about her. How her hair swung back and forth, brushing against her pale skin. How her lips pouted, how her body looked as if it would fit to his.

Carlisle couldn't _stop_ thinking about her.

**I would LOVE to offer my sincerest thanks to the most amazing beta on : Ocean of Dreams. Thanks. **

**My musical inspiration for this chapter is: Fall For You, by Sencondhand Serenade. **

**I would love it, and I know reviewing takes time, if you would drop me a review if you have the time. Thanks in advance, if you review I'll get back to A.S.A.P.**


	2. Chapter 2

When his eyes look at her, burning with regret and something else, she hates herself the most.

It's not like Esme can help it. Her body, her soul and her mind, were all so... ready and _willing_, to submit to a blissful death. The pain of falling, of breaking and fracturing every bone in her body, hadn't been quite so bad. She had known one thing through out her whole suicide attempt: she was going to finally be gone.

No more little baby girls with innocent blue eyes and thick lashes named Maria. No more husbands that are going to hurt her when she doesn't do the smallest things right. Her mind had submitted itself to these things.

Besides, as Esme was standing there, on the rocky out cropping, with her hands spread and her dress dancing in the wind, she had felt so young again. She had felt so free, so _alive _again, that she could barely contain a sad chuckle. She was, finally and at last, the old Esme again.

The old Esme was infatuated by a young man when she made a stupid mistake. She would talk to him late in the night, watching his face by dim candle light and memorizing the angular panes of bone on his face. She memorized his golden eyes. He was _beautiful._ And he listened to her. Esme had been in love. This wasn't just 'Mr. Darcy fantasy' love either. It was _love. _

_She was truly fascinated by this man. _

Many times her mind would go back to those memories in the years that followed. When he kissed her, Charles, it was Carlisle. When he slapped her, she imagined going back to Carlisle, pleading with him to take her away. When she was pregnant, it was his child. She was his lover. Her mind really was impossible to control.

So, you can imagine her feeling of satisfaction when, after supposedly plummeting to her death, _he_ was there. Concerned and youthful as ever, Esme had remembered her mind rejecting the perfection of it all. He was still the same man, perfect, pale, otherworldly. And he had taken her away. She was ecstatic through the haze of her body shutting down. She wanted to touch his face, feel his hand on her face, even though she could feel something molten and sticky creeping down the panes of her face.

Then the agony. And a small, bitter apology. She would never, not even after over a hundred years with him, forget the way that apology had sounded. "I'm so sorry, Esme." Her name had danced off his tongue as though he had called it a thousand times. Comfortable and thick headed as she was, Esme didn't care about what that apology meant.

The pain had been nothing. Hell, for him? Sure, why not. She had screamed, he had murmured an apology. The thing that had irked her more than anything, was that he wouldn't touch her. Esme had dreamt about him for _years! And here he was! _Unmoving, obviously, and anxious. Why wouldn't he brush that frustrating hair from her cheek? She remembered few things about her change, now only a week pasted. She could remember one moment so clearly that the vibrancy sometimes made her shy from the memory. Carlisle had been sitting there, running his thumb across his full lower lip, his eyes calculating. "How are you, Esme?"

She had screamed. She remembered handing his life to him on a plate. The fog of death had lifted, and Esme wasn't stupid. She had wondered why he was inflicting pain on her? Hadn't she been in enough pain? She remembered calling him horrible names, whimpering at him to take it back.

When Esme sat in her silent state, she was reliving things. Her husband slapping her. All of the horrible things he had said to her. All of the times she had let someone down. All of the things that had gone wrong, only to have the first right thing to happen to her in a long time, Maria, her child, go wrong. Esme wanted to store these away for use on days when Carlisle looked at her.

Maybe she could come up with some contempt for Charles and use it to make her hate Carlisle.

No such luck had come her way, but Esme should have known. When was life ever kind to her? Had she ever been dealt a good hand in all of this insane game?

No, her mind reasoned, not yet.

So, here Esme sat. She was in _his _room. See, he had offered it to her. She hadn't taken a bath in days, and he claimed that she could use his room if she wanted.

She had hot water in a tub outside, hidden deep in the trees. They lived in the middle of no where, probably for her, but she still couldn't have either of the boys watching her.

It still hurt Esme to look into the mirror. After five years of Charles telling her she was ugly, stupid, and ignorant, Esme worried about looking into mirrors. What if she looked, and saw a girl that was everything he had described?

Her large eyes bulged a little, and her lips were too big, too red. Her hair was too full, too brown. Her hips were too voluptuous, her back had too dramatic a curve, her legs were too long. And all of her skin was way too pale. All of these faults, together, formed a big mistake.

Esme wondered if anyone would ever see her differently, because she wasn't soon to see herself in a different light. Maybe, if she waited, some man would see her as beautiful, all of her faults coming together to form something they could live with.

She angrily shook her head to dispel these thoughts.

Esme grabbed the soap, a deep red sun dress, her towel, and a strip of fabric to use as a washcloth. Her feet padded silently, for old habits did die hard, and Esme had always hated shoes, through the halls of this small house. When she saw a bronze head, she smiled at him. Edward lifted his gaze for but a moment, giving her an understanding smile.

Esme walked past him. She swung the door open with an unneeded vigor, knocking the small thing back into the house. If she were human, her cheeks would have been painted a light pink of embarrassment. "Sorry," Esme turned back into the house timidly, apologizing to two men who were both absorbed in a book or something. Carlisle looked up with a warm smile. He responded with an 'its fine.'

She shut the door quietly, thinking on Carlisle. He was so... gentle, compassionate. What would happen if he found out about all that she'd been made to endure? Esme worried that he would look at her, and really, truly, see something as undesirable as death itself.

Esme made a mental note to work up the courage, as she had once before, and ask him about it.

The woods formed a kind of barrier in Esme's opinion. They seemed to block the ugly out. The light that filtered through the canopy of exquisite emerald trees, made her think of a warm family room. The way the browns and golds and reds and oranges combined seemed so vibrant to her recently human eyes. Her sun dress fell to the ground with a small thud.

Esme walked over to the tub with her new unnatural grace, sinking almost prettily into the water. She enjoyed her new found grace and agility, it added something of beauty to her, she thought. Esme thought that maybe her hair was okay now, long and lush as it was. Maybe her lips were fine too; they were just a little on the blood red side.

Blood, for some reason, made her think of Charles. How he'd hurt her.

Her pale hand with long fingers clutched the soap.

How he'd felt on her.

Her hand was rubbing the soap in an appalling hard fashion against her hair.

She could smell him on her.

Her nails bit into her arms with the effort not to tear her skin off.

His body inside of hers.

Esme wanted to scream. She bit her wrist, drawing a tiny half crescent scar that would fade with time, with her teeth.

And then he said "I do," all over again.

Esme allowed her nails to drag the soap forcefully over her body, she allowed her mind to torment her. Her screams, her nails were sharp now, bit at the air around her in a sorrowful half cry, half plead. Her shouts only got worse, but her mind refused to stop.

After suppressing this, after putting it behind her for so long, she didn't need to stop it now. It was coming like a dam breaking, and Esme only hoped she could hold on for the ride.

Charles was hurting her with words, with brutality. She wanted to leave. Her heart broke in two; Maria was gone. She jumped off of the cliff. Her eyes were burgundy. His arms were soft-. What? Carlisle was in this horrible night mare as well. He had the starring role, it seemed.

She had longed for him for so long. So many years, so many times Charles forced himself upon her. And it could have been him, but it wasn't. He didn't care, never had. He was just like Charles, probably. Waiting to hurt her.

Esme stopped screaming for a single moment, letting her body give itself over to sobs. Her soft skin was red with scratch marks. Her usual chalky exterior slightly flushed.

Sometimes, when she saw shadows in the trees, they were Charles watching her.

* * *

When she'd gone inside, they had pretended not to notice her arrival. Very poorly of course, but they had tried to hide their... feelings about her, behind casual inquiries about her bath. She offered a stiff smile and a quick excuse about needed to brush out her hair before it tangled.

That was what Esme was doing now. She pulled the brush through her hair angrily, pretending that what she saw in the mirror was to her liking. Was to _anyone's_ liking. What she saw was a failed attempt at the beauty each of those men seemed to posses. She saw a tiny scar she had inflicted on her neck and was repulsed. Her eyes flickered up to meet their twin's in the mirror. Esme drew back, flinching from the burgundy.

If Esme leaned over a bit, turned her face a little to the right, and supported her chin with a hand, she could only see half of her face. It was okay like this. One half of a whole. This side was okay. Just enough lips, just enough eyelashes, just enough softly curving cheekbone. Somewhere, sometime, Esme figured she might have been considered beautiful.

* * *

It was an inky twilight. Vaguely familiar for all of the mysterious things it possessed.

There were the frogs, calling out a throaty song into the night. There was the sky, painted as if by Monet himself. Inky blues, rich purples, and cascading pinks. They reflected in her eyes for a moment as she turned her face to the sky. The wind wasn't very strong, but where it played across the pond, it was like a small child. Twisting and twirling, flitting from room to room in an intricately elegant dance.

Esme turned her face towards the pond she was walking by, letting her foot just touch the surface of the water. The intricate dance seemed to continue even with her interruption. Her eyes scanned the horizon with the skill of a new, quick learning hunter.

The one change about this whole thing that Esme couldn't grasp, was how her world, soft parlor rooms, beautiful trees, could suddenly become so predatory. The shadows that she had played in, enjoyed the intimate secrecy of, had suddenly become places where a hunter could lurk. Her small, dark rooms, could house humans that she wanted to kill. The horizon, beautiful and slowly dipping, possessed the power to bathe her world in a darkness that would make sure she wasn't seen.

Esme didn't like her world becoming like this, it was-.

"It isn't always like that." Edward whispered.

The boy, tall and handsome, had his hands in his jeans pockets. His skin shone silvery in the moonlight. "Hm?" She didn't know what he was talking about, hadn't a clue.

Esme started walking back toward the house, uncomfortable with his company for too long, and he fell into step beside her. "The instincts taking over so quickly... _too_ quickly." Edward murmured, his eyes watched the leaves on various trees. He seemed to find something musical about it, he began humming a melody.

Esme hadn't a clue what to say to that. What did he mean by that? "Oh?"

"The hunter's mind takes some getting used to." Edward said quietly. He picked up a pebble and juggled it between hands. "But soon enough you'll learn to ignore those urges. They are just..." Edward smiled. "They are simply a 'skeleton in the closet'." He replied wryly.

Esme stopped and stood in front of him. "I need to talk to Carlisle." She whispered to Edward's feet. "Does he-? Will it be okay if-?"

"Yes." Edward murmured. "Carlisle is sitting out front on the swing."

* * *

Esme was standing in front of Carlisle. She had been for about five minutes now. Her caramel hair formed a shimmering shield from the world. Her head was bowed. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper. "Am I ugly?" Esme asked quietly.

Carlisle's head jerked up with a start. His eyes were squinting at her, his face turned to the side.

"I see." Esme began to walk away, feeling the pressure of some invisible force of tears build behind her eyes.

His hand wrapped around her wrist in a loose hold. Esme fairly stumbled forward, her breathing stopped. Carlisle let go of her wrist, he talked to her with his eyes. His eyes seemed to warn her to stay put. "Esme... I..." His deep, bass tone caressed her. It lulled her into a trance that she found very close to sleep, if only she could stay here. "You aren't ugly."

Her head jerked up to meet his eyes.

"I don't think you're ugly at all. I find you..." Here Carlisle gazed at the floor of the land. His feet traced lazy circles in the dirt road. "I find you beautiful."

Esme allowed her eyes to close. She let his words wash over her.

"Goodnight." He whispered.

And then Carlisle Cullen pressed a kiss to her cheek.

**My musical inspiration for this chapter, was: Hurricane, but Something Corporate.**

**I want to offer more thanks and appreciation to my amazing beta: Ocean of Dreams. Thanks. **


	3. Chapter 3

The first time she ever came to sit with him on the porch swing it was a dusky twilight.

The moon had already begun its descent beneath the clouds, painting the sky in a vivid pattern of pinks and purples. The prairie grass swayed hypnotically in the small breeze that blew in from the lake. Everything about the night was perfection in Carlisle's opinion. His eyes were trained on the small purple flowers that seemed to be holding on for dear life in the wind. His topaz eyes watched them, for his mind was busy.

It had been a week. Seven days, since he had heard a word from Esme. After he had kissed her cheek, she hadn't come in that night. He felt horrible... like he had knocked down some huge barrier between countries and a war was raging. Inside of him could surely be considered a war. One side of him, the less noble one, yelled at him to confront her. Demanding answers would get him no where in her eyes though, he knew that. His other side sat contently to wait it out. There was _something_ between them. However fragile and frayed the edges of the past were, they knew each other from a long time ago. They had eternity either way. Whatever he chose, Carlisle knew he was balancing on a precipice with her. Esme was like the one human he couldn't handle touching in Medical School, her blood called to him when she had broken her leg. But she was so different then. So lively, so beautiful. It took Carlisle a moment to pull his head from his old memories of her. Both sides of his mind expected very little.

So when her form took shape, drifting out of the woods with a purple flower accidentally caught in her hair, the breath died in Carlisle's throat. Her lips were pulled together in the most serene smile he'd seen her wear. She wasn't necessarily happy looking... her eyes still held a certain amount of hardness, but her smile was open.

"Hello." Her voice was like a river. Kind, warm, but strong and fluid in a way he hadn't yet heard it. Carlisle looked up at her burgundy eyes; she'd elected not to cover them with sun glasses today. "How are you?" A sudden gust of wind carried the strong, she was so close, scent of her blood. When someone is changed, the aroma of their blood, becomes the smell of their venom. _La Tua Cantante_, is what the old Volturri like to call it. Her eyes drifted closed and her head fell back on a sigh. "It's a beautiful night." She breathed.

Carlisle, intoxicated as he was, merely nodded. "Yes, it is." His eyes fell upon the buttery smooth skin of her neck. He knew it would be softer than his own. Carlisle wanted to answer her other questions, he needed to prove to her that he was a good guy. She could trust him. "I'm good, Esme." Her eyes shot open at the sound of her name from his mouth. "You?"

Esme walked forward about two steps; they were merely a foot away. She made eye contact with him and did the strangest thing. Her eyes put up their walls, her lips sinking into an undecided smile. Her face fell into a hardness that made her look as if she was carved from stone. Carlisle shrunk back from her eyes, what was happening?

The most shocking thing of all came when she raised her left hand. It was smooth, pale, and inches from Carlisle's face. He drew a deep breath.

"Indians used to do this," Esme began. Carlisle realized, with a start, he had no idea what she had done before she had tried to kill herself. "It was a form of..." Esme seemed to search for a word. "It was like surrender. It was peace. It showed that neither man or woman had any weapons. Peace."

Carlisle stuck out his fingers, letting his fingers brush against hers. "Esme..." His voice was huskier than it had ever been. Why was this happening now? Carlisle silently willed the Earth to open and swallow him whole.

"Yes?" Her eyes, looking at where their hands were connected, abruptly met his. Her walls were all but collapsed.

"What did you do before...?" He didn't know how to term it. 'This," didn't seem a big enough term. It didn't encompass everything that had happened. She understood though.

Her eyes had begun to twinkle, and as she moved her hand from his, she sank into the grass at their feet. "I was a teacher." She replied. "I loved teaching. Not just children, but everyone... I liked knowing I was making the world some what of a better place." Her eyes took on a soft under tone, turning the burgundy an almost strange tint of brown. "I loved the kids... Always wanted one of my own, you know. I wanted someone I loved too though." Carlisle was getting a weird impression that if she could blush, she would be a deep scarlet. The way her eyes were casted down, her lips pulled into a sheepish smile, suggested something that embarrassed her.

"Did you find him?" His tone, hard as steel, surprised him. He cast his eyes to the ground as her eyes searched the side of his face. He absentmindedly pulled the blue scarf tighter around his neck, the wind was chilling.

Esme shook her head sadly. "Yes, I think I did."

Carlisle flinched. "I'm sorry for taking you fr-."

"No!" Esme reached across and brushed her hand across his in an awkward admittance of something Carlisle couldn't read. "I loved someone, yes, but you didn't take me from him. I never married him... Never knew that much about him." She sighed, lazily letting her legs form a triangle so she could hug them to her chest. Her next thought seemed to weigh a lot. "He didn't say a lot... He listened very well." Her eyes discreetly let themselves peek at him through the sheen of her hair.

The silence that settled between them was heavy. So, so heavy. Carlisle was strong, but this silence had a pulling in and spitting out factor about it. He could give in to the silence, or he could walk away from her in an admittance of some defeat he could feel lifting from his mind. Esme seemed to feel fine though, maybe she was used to this kind of silence.

A stray curl, the one with the small purple flower, dislodged itself the haphazard twist at the back of her head. Carlisle couldn't stop his hand, but his breathing became quick. He caught the soft tendril, releasing the flower back into the wind. Esme gasped when his hand brushed against her neck in order to tuck the curl back into the twist.

"I want to start over with you." Esme admitted quietly. "I'm sorry about..." she gestured to herself. "This. I needed to remember to let go, I think." She turned to him, letting her legs fall to the ground under her brown dress. The long sleeves hugged her arms wonderfully. "Hello." She said, her lips falling into a familiar smile. "I'm Esme Ann Platt. And I do believe we've met." She extended her hand palm up again. Her brown dress couldn't hide the creamy texture of her calves.

Carlisle was powerless to stop the smile that split his lips. They curved upwards in the most beautiful smile Esme had ever seen. "I'm Carlisle Cullen. Nice to meet you, Esme." He placed his hand against hers again, for the first time noticing the strange fit of their hands. It was like they had been cast into the same mold, just for the sole purpose of fitting together. "How are you?"

Her finger slipped down the inside of his index finger, gently touching the white skin. She was timid. But Carlisle's breath, ceased, he felt like a small boy in love. "I'm okay, now." Esme put her hand all the way against his. "How are you?" Her warm eyes searched his.

It was like something so large, so infinitely important, had finally fallen into place between them. She didn't make a move to drop her hand from his, he didn't make any move to move his hand either. "I'm good." She beamed across at him. Carlisle watched with amusement as Esme began to examine his face. Her eyes climbed up the slope of his nose, then over his darkened topaz eyes that glinted a brilliant caramel in the setting sun. She turned her eyes to his lips. Then to his hair. "Do you always wear scarves?" She asked suddenly. Her other hand came out and ran along the nape of his neck, barely brushing her fingers against the scarf.

Carlisle nodded. "My father was an Anglican Priest."

"Oh." Her hands, cold as they should be, were warm. "I was Christian." She let her hand drop from his scarf. Their hands remained joined in the space between them: bridging a gap. "Does it feel strange to talk to me?" Her eyes weren't too judgmental, but there was a real curiosity hidden deep in them.

"Yes." Carlisle admitted with a sigh. "You were so quiet... but a long time ag-."

Her finger was against his lips. Stifling a gasp and stopping the flow of words from his brain to his body. "Stop talking about me a long time ago." Her eyes turned dark. "I'm not her." She whispered. "I wish, so much, that I could go back to her... that girl from a long time ago."

Carlisle, he didn't know what else to do, pressed a kiss her finger. Esme's eyes widened. Carlisle realized his mistake too late. "I'm sorry." Her finger fell from his lips with a shock of electricity to his brain. "I didn't mean to.."

"It's fine." She whispered faintly. Something deep and unspoken existed in her eyes.

Carlisle realized something as Esme took his hand between hers. Something small, unspoken, and very fragile existed between them. It was new. It needed nurturing, almost as if it needed touch to be sustained. Esme wasn't moving away from him, and Carlisle wasn't, after years of wanting her, going to give her up now.

She twisted her fingers into the gaps between his, testing the fit of two hands both together. They were gentle, tentative, as they explored. Her hands were small, he realized. His large in her grip. She wouldn't look at him, wouldn't admit that everything between them was real, but neither would he.

She sat with him for a month before either admitted anything was real between them.

**I need to thank my amazing beta too. Thanks, Ocean of Dreams. **

**My musical inspiration was: What I've Done.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I want to take the time to dedicate this chapter to my beta: Ocean of Dreams. My sincerest thanks. **

**My musical inspiration is: Come on Get Higher (I love the line, "faith and desire in the swing of your hips.") **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Carlisle and Esme... Or Edward, for that matter. **

**When she started talking to him, everything seemed to become a little easier. **

Esme noticed it first, right after he had brought her back to the house after the first time they had talked. Her steps were lighter, her smile a little more warm. She didn't want to block people out so much anymore. Her trust in Carlisle, her love for him really, had been reignited. And it was now a nightly ritual. It had been going for a month now.

It would be about eight o' clock. The perfect time in Esme's opinion. Tonight it was just a little bit earlier. His eyes had been downcast since he had been home; something wasn't right with him, and Esme could easily place that today had been a difficult day at work.

Carlisle walked out the door ahead of her, tugging at the scarf around his neck in an agitated manner. His foot falls were quick, a staccato, and Esme had to run, throwing on her light jacket to keep up with him. Her white skirt flared wildly around her legs, and her blue sweater hugged her curves sinuously in Carlisle's opinion. Of course all Esme could see was the same pathetic girl that had fallen to Charles Evenson.

When she caught up to him, she stopped dead in front of him, placing her hand up in the air as if to make him stop. Instead, Carlisle seemed to crave the little physical contact tonight, he placed his hand against hers. "Whoa." Esme breathed. It was more to stop him than out of shock. She pulled his hand into hers, creating a warm little cage for it. "What's wrong?" Her voice was measured and careful. He looked so tormented... someone must have died today.

Whenever someone died, Carlisle had always taken it particularly hard. He wanted to save everyone, but Edward and Esme had tried to convince him that everyone couldn't be saved. There could not, no way, be a race of purely predators that were unable to breed for eternity. That wouldn't work, and Carlisle should have known that, but Esme arguments were becoming weak. An epidemic of sorts was sweeping the small town, and old people were becoming more prone to it than others. Many were dying. Carlisle had been down and out lately.

"An old man, Esme." His voice was strained and painful against the usual velvet quality his voice possessed. Esme pulled Carlisle to the ground with her, pulling his hand to her.

The prairie grass swayed silently around them, Carlisle gazed at the moon... But then something happened.

Carlisle, she wanted to stop breathing, pulled his hand out of her grasp. Why would he take himself away from her? Had she done something wrong? What was he-? Her thoughts were quickly invaded by his tentatively touching her hand. He gave her a hesitant glance, Esme nodded. His topaz eyes never stopped gazing into hers as he lowered his head into Esme's lap. She didn't want to know if this was real. It shouldn't be. How could Esme deserve something this good, after all that she had done? Esme didn't know what to do with her hands, so settled for putting them on either side of her body behind her to prop herself up.

This was new. So utterly new to both. Esme felt almost comfortable with it, she knew it was right. But something inside of her screamed that she could be hurt again... but then her other side laughed at her. This was Carlisle, it chided. He wouldn't, ever, hurt you. Don't doubt him. You must learn to trust him again, Esme. It was her mother's voice that chanted at her in her head.

The wind was whistling a melodic tune through the grasses around Esme, she could feel her hair riding on the waves of the wind. Esme thought about all of this for a moment... and she couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled from her throat. It was a chuckle, quiet, personal, but all the same. After a month, Carlisle had never seen her laugh like this. He was enraptured by the way her pale neck looked. Her lips must have been created by God.

"You are so beautiful." Carlisle murmured.

Esme looked down at him with a skeptical, almost reproachful glance. "I don't believe you."

Carlisle opened his eyes from cataloging that mental picture away. His topaz eyes widened as she put a single finger to his cheek, she ran it up to his eye delicately as if worried he would shatter. "You must believe me." He murmured to her finger, for she had run it to touch his lips, hoping to silence him.

"I can't."

One, single, caramel curl dangled down her neck, and was resting on the swell of her breast. Carlisle put his hand up. The movement was natural to him now, her curls were wild, but it was still one of the things he loved about her. The problem curl was put behind her ear in a moment that captured all of Esme's beliefs about him. It would be simple, right now, to admit that stolen, chaste, kisses often left her looking for more. I love you, would be the easiest thing in the world to say. "You _must_."

"Carlisle..." Esme took a deep breath, letting her fingers run down the pale cylinder of his neck. Her touch prompted Carlisle to tilt his head back, giving her access to his whole neck. Her fingers ran down into the pool of one part of his collarbone, and then back up, coming to rest on the underside, where a beard should have grown, of his chin. Her small fingers were lighter than a gossamer's wings. "He _hurt_ me, Carlisle." She took a deep breath, moving her fingers back to play at the pink skin of his lips. "My parents wanted me to marry off to someone rich... but as I've said, I couldn't get this man off of my mind. Taken as I was with him." She pulled her lips into a rueful smile. "I wanted to marry for love; my parents wanted what all parents wanted. Money, so naturally, Charles was a good answer. He was a good man in public, he had a good reputation. We were married in the month." Here, she hesitantly brushed her hand through his hair, pulling gently at the varying shades of gold. Carlisle pulled one of his knees up to a triangle, like she always had. "At home, he was very different. He hurt me, mentally and physically. I never took well to being called names, always took it to heart, but this was different. It was meant to completely destroy me..." Her fingers clenched. Carlisle let his hands grab hers out of her hair. He twisted her hand into his.. He didn't know what he was doing... Maybe he was anchoring her here, with him. Not letting her get lost in her horrible past. All Carlisle wanted was a future with this woman. "When I got pregnant, he was off in the War. When he came home from War, I'd saved up enough money... Don't ask how, but I ran as quickly as I could." Her smile dropped into a frown. "I ended up here, in Ashland with a cousin. She helped me with the baby when it came, and got me a job." Her hand clenched inside of his. "My baby died and I threw myself off of a cliff."

Carlisle exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Esme could feel his fingers working to loosen the knot she had clenched her fist into. They brushed along the outside of her index finger, down over her knuckles, and when it was completely loosened, Carlisle brushed a kiss on the skin of her palm. "I'm sorry."

His words, though he longed for them to make everything better, sent Esme staring at a tree in the distance. She locked her eyes on the reddish, orange leaves that danced an intricate little jig in the wind. Up and down, to the side. "Why are you apologizing?"

Carlisle brushed his hand, for his head was still in her lap. He ignored her previous question. "Who is he? This man?"

"You." she said simply.

His breath hitched. "I loved someone too... but I don't know where she is."

The predator instincts that swelled in Esme's brain and limbs shocked her. She was in deeper than she thought. "Who?" She asked quietly. There was nothing here if he didn't want there to be.

"You." He said.

Esme's eyes snapped back to him in an instant. "Huh?" She said dumbly. After loving him for so long... she had dreamed he would say that.

"When you broke your leg, you were the most interesting person I had ever met." Carlisle put her hand up to his cheek. Then he put his over her hand. "I loved it when you would speak to me at night. Your smile was beautiful..." Carlisle glanced quickly up at her, locking gazes. "I loved your eyes... they were magnets. Yanking me in with a force too strong." His hands cradled her face gently; he longed to sit up, but was reluctant to move from this new part of her body. He hadn't gotten to test the fit of her legs around him yet. "Esme, I believe I loved you even then." He finished. Carlisle let go of her face, closing his eyes as the sun slipped behind the horizon.

Esme's face was casted in shadow as her mind worked in over time. He had always loved her, always. Not just a figment of her imagination, not just some wishful thinking. Esme had to take a moment to grasp such a foreign concept.

Esme was a women, yes, but a man actually loving her for her intellect and knowledge, and wanting to see her all the time, was a new concept after Charles had hurt her. Esme took a moment to whisper his words. "Esme, I believe I loved you even then."

"Yes." Carlisle agreed with a boyish grin.

Esme was having none of it. Chaste kisses and crazy touching. It was done. She leaned down until her hair was creating a glistening, caramel shield over the two people. The moon was just making its first appearance in the night sky. Esme let her lips brush against Carlisle's in the style of chaste kiss he had first given her. She wanted to give him something more though. "Can we have a fi-?"

She didn't get any farther.

Carlisle's neck was craned in the most uncomfortable position, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. Esme's lips slid across his in a slow, hesitant manner that Carlisle knew. He wondered if she was still self conscious... maybe she didn't believe him. But how could she doubt him? Wasn't it proof enough that his lips were pressed to hers?

Esme leaned her head down closer to his, urging him to put his head back in her lap. Esme chuckled when she could feel Carlisle's hand gently brush through her hair before twisting it between his fingers. His fingers were soft, warm, hesitant. The absolute opposite of Charles. And Esme wanted him.

Esme wouldn't open her mouth to him, but Carlisle was happy all the same.

Esme pulled away first. "There." She said in a triumphant voice.

Carlisle raised a perfectly blond eye brow. "Was I really that horrible?"  
"No."  
"Then what?"

"You were alw\ays so concerne-."

His lips were on hers again, but this time he was sitting up. He pulled her into his lap, coaxing her hands to play in the fine blond hairs that lined his neck. Esme could feel Carlisle's fingers work up the column of her neck. This time, when his tounge slid out to brush her bottom lip, Esme pulled back.

"Are you sure?" Esme asked quietly. "What if I don't-?"

"Don't talk. Just feel."

Carlisle's lips worked on Esme's with such a sure air about them. She found it refreshing to not have to take the lead in this. When his tounge brushed her lips, she opened her mouth. When at first their tounges touched, Esme purred. A low vibration at the back of her throat. Carlisle hand's maneuvered through Esme's hair, up around her neck, to cup her cheeks in his hands.

And when, five minutes later, found them panting with their heads together. Esme pulled back to rest her head on his shoulder. "I.."

"I love you." He said simply.

Esme, for a moment, knew it was all that simple. She replied, "I love you too."


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for reading, my sincerest thanks for reviewing, and all of the happiness in the world to my beta. Thanks. **

When she was afraid, of him, of getting hurt, he hated himself the most.

A month since his I love you, and now, sometimes, when Edward went hunting, they wouldn't go into the meadow to spend their nights. Carlisle never knew who needed these nights more: him or her. See, if you got right down to it, Carlisle_knew. This was _her. The woman he had looked for forever, was finally her. Hundreds of years, that's how long it had taken. And the differences between her and his first love were shocking.

His first love, or the illusion of his first love, had arrived with the Italian family next door. Cecilia was her name. Everything about her had been edges and straight lines. She looked nothing like any Italian he had ever seen. Her hair was a glistening mane of black hair, hanging down to just her shoulders. Then, there was her body. The lines that made her cheek bones, the angle the made he nose. Her lips had been like triangles placed together, but for all of these faults, Carlisle had seen a smiling face. From describing her, he knew from Esme, you would have maybe found her cold, distant. Not at all. She would take long walks around town with him. She would place silent kisses on Carlisle's cheek. He_had_ loved her.

Somewhere, Carlisle knew Esme would never be anyone else's. _She was his._

Esme walked in from Carlisle's bedroom wearing a radiant smile to fit her dark jeans and blue sweater. Carlisle didn't turn, conscious as he was of her every move, every thought, and every breath. "Esme." He sighed, his eyes stayed glued to the tumbling fire in front of him.

The fire. Roaring and crackling, almost reminded him of some great beast's laugh. The flames would lick up, the creature was laughing very hard, and then they would settle, almost as if to suggest that the creature had taken a breath.

Esme's arms were around his neck from behind in an instant. Why did she know him so well? Carlisle longed for the old secrecy of his facial expressions often now. This was a plague of huge proportions, and while they should have left, Esme had insisted he stay. Her hands, still tentative, found their way under his neck; they grasped his chin, so she could look into his eyes. Carlisle closed the pained topaz depths. "I have a question." Esme breathed, he could feel her lips so close to him. His dead heart seemed as if it were trying to stutter out an answer to her question even though she hadn't asked him.

Carlisle titled his lips up, he caught her off guard, just barely feeling the smooth, red skin touch his. "Yes, Esme?" Eyes still closed.

"Why did you stay here, Carlisle?" She pulled her fingers through his hair in an absentminded manner that drove Carlisle insane. "It is so much pain, you could have told me 'no'." She reprimanded him in a low voice. No one else was here to hear her though.

He could smell her throat. "Too much loss. Too many people. Too much pain. Too many that I feel responsible for not sa-."

He was silenced by her wandering lips, just barely, a breath, brushing against his neck. Carlisle couldn't stop the purr that bubbled up from his throat.

It seemed to Carlisle, and maybe he was wrong, that the one way, in a vampire's life, to claim a mate, was to kiss someone's neck. To a vampire, the neck was erotic. It was sensual. The hunt, stalking someone, letting them see your beauty for a moment and wonder if this was hell. Then the bite, letting your teeth slide through the buttery skin, feeling your dead heart sing. It was sexual. Vampires were sexual beings, it seemed.

Her lips slid over the small freckle that hadn't disappeared with the change. It was on the right side of his neck. "Then let's leave." Esme breathed.

Carlisle wanted to stay He wanted to say 'you're driving me crazy!'. But instead, Carlisle shook his head. "You were right, Esme." His eyes remained sealed shut.

"How can I be right?" Her body untangled itself from his. By the darkening of a spot in his eyelids, he could guess Esme was in front of him now. Her voice, he realized with a start, had been hard again. Carlisle's eyes snapped open.

He stood, placing them close together. It matter that his scarf was half off, or that his shirt was basically unbuttoned... Carlisle wanted to make his point. "Esme... You told me to stay." Next to her hard voice, Carlisle's was soft, repentant almost. For what though? His mind asked.

Her eyes, topaz now, wandered down the path between his abdominal muscles. They lingered at the dark hair on his chest. Esme seemed to realize what she was doing when it was too late. She flashed a sheepish smile, right before she spoke. This time, it was in the gentle cadences of the century she had lived in. "You mustn't always believe me."

"But-."

"No." Her finger laid gently on his plump bottom lip. "You have been so different lately. Carlisle, its almost as if you're closing yourself in, making sure that no one can touch you... and I want to be able to touch you, Carlisle," her voice grew in strength though it stayed the same volume. His eyes locked onto hers as she spooned herself against his body. She whispered to him, her face closer to his ear than ever. "You are perfect, Carlisle. Everything about you. And I don't know why you let this hurt you so much. They are humans, they are mortal, they must die... I wanted to die."

The statement itself didn't catch his attention, the past tense did. "Huh?" He was intoxicate my her. Her scent, her body fitting to his so perfectly. Her lips brushing against his neck again.

"You... mean the world to me." Esme murmured. He could almost feel her blush.

Carlisle's strong hands, cradled her face, inches from his. He bent forward, painting her lips with a chaste kiss. "You mean the world to me as well."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Making you stay..." Her voice trailed off.

"Why?"

"Because I guess I didn't want poor, innocent people to suffer." Esme murmured. "We, all three of us, have suffered more tragic injustices than many of those people, I know... but the innocent shouldn't have to suffer."

"Esme... You can't them any more than I can." He pressed an earnest kiss to her lips, sighing when she tried to strain against his hands. "Esme... would you do something for me?"

"Anything." Conviction made her voice strong.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"Forever?"

"Yes."

"Marry me?"

The silence hung in an awkward shield across her eyes. He couldn't read her thoughts there...

She didn't hesitate for longer than a minute.

"Yes."

That was the first night that Carlisle made love to a woman. Really and truly.

**Um... There are so many choices for music, but I pick: Come On Get Higher. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello. I'm really sorry about the short chapter ,but thats how I like it. Short, but amazing. I have a question: What should I write next? I don't know... anyone have any ideas. I'll coauthor too, but I might be gone this weekend, so don't expect me to answer right away... Sorry, again.  
**

**Many thanks to my Beta: Ocean of Dreams.**

**This is dedicated to the author: Playfair. Thanks for reviewing. **

"Do I tell you how much I love you?" Carlisle's lips caressed mine with an impossible to resist touch as he said this. His topaz eyes were closed, and my hands held his scarf. "Do I?"

I nodded. "All the time." Pressing a kiss to his lips, I felt Edward move into the room. My mind started laughing. _Sorry, Edward_, I thought quickly. "Hello, Edward." I turned around to address the dashing bronze haired boy who would be our only witness.

In that moment, I felt a rush of affection for this boy. For everything this boy had lived through and become. Edward was strong. Sure, he had rebelled, but we all had to experiment with our boundaries. I remember doing that when I was sixteen. But Edward had come back, whether that had been obligation or simply the need to have a companion.. I didn't know, but in that moment, Edward secured a special place inside my bursting heart. "Thank you, Edward." I looked at his wide topaz eyes.

Carlisle continued to brush kisses along the skin at my neck as he spoke, a smile eventually curving his lips as Edward advanced on him. "Come on, Carlisle!" I, on accident, for Edward pinned me an unconvincing glare, let a giggle slip from between my lips. He had sounded very much like a petulant child.

Carlisle turned me around and started peppering any bare skin his lips could reach with kisses, while murmuring 'I love you's' at a rapid rate. Edward came up behind him and grabbed his shoulders, securely pulling Carlisle away from me.

"No!" I cried, launching myself at them. I landed in Carlisle's arms, having been pulled to burrow against his chest. "You can't leave me..." My mind muttered to me in a frantic over drive of a pace that had me whirling and tumbling to follow.

Carlisle couldn't leave, and not just because I suddenly remembered everything Charles had called me and said I had become. If he left me alone with my memories, nothing good would come of it. I knew it. My memories would rock me to the core, and I would end up seated on the floor, my small body shaking with dry sobs.

Carlisle's wide almost brown eyes flashed to Edward. "A moment, please?" His question was, of course, directed at Edward for my benefit. They usually held silent, very technical conversations about the latest advancement in this field or that. Rarely ever, anymore, was I the topic of discord.

Edward nodded. "You have ten minutes; then I come and haul you out." But his voice held little menace... more pity. The door slammed after him with an angry click.

"Esme... Oh Esme... Stop, please." His voice was demanding and low; the same voice he used when I was-. Oh. I worked to stop the violent shuddering, had to actually take deep breaths. "What's wrong?"

"Charles." How could one word mean so much?

Carlisle's soft, strong hands balled into fists under me. "Don't worry on him."

"But--"

Carlisle pushed a hard kiss to my lips. "No, Esme." His eyes took a fierce, biting undertone. "I love you, and Charles never did." I flinched though I knew this. "You must trust me." His voice was softer than velvet. "I love you, and all I want to do is make you happy."

I pulled my hands from around his torso, linking them behind his neck. My fingers toyed with his blond hair. "I love you."

"I love you." He brushed a single kiss to the half moon scar I had inflicted on my neck. That topic had come up in our conversations many a time, because I felt so utterly safe with Carlisle. And he was gone.

My fingers shook as I took out the simple white dress. I had to gather my wits, now, before it was too late.

I didn't want to worry, didn't want to doubt our relationship, and I didn't. I doubted my ability to be _in _a relationship after Charles.

I fastened the silk with shaking fingers. When I turned to the mirror, I gasped.

* * *

_Not a sound, Edward._ My mind, I will admit, was too harsh with the boy. But the metaphor 'wits end' had taken on a whole new meaning after leaving her presence. This was the thing about finding a soul mate: leaving was impossible to do.

Edward's head jerked. "Don't think so little of me."

_Its not you, I'm sorry. _

"Your thoughts are quite a mess."

I shrugged into my black jacket, and elected to spare Edward a glance over my shoulder. He was there. The same boy I had saved a two hundred years ago, perfect and timeless. There were minor changes, of course, that was what came with this life. Not green eyes, but topaz. Bronze hair now a totally rare color to find anywhere. His human features, already handsome and roguish, intensified ten fold, until he was an angel in disguise. His tan skin had left though, replacing itself with diamond hard, protective armor. I loved the boy like a father, knew Esme loved him as a son. "Thank you." I said formally.

Edward laughed. "Why so many thanks today?"

I closed my eyes, willing this topic to go away. "Because... I found _her_, Edward. She is my soul mate, my other half."

I'm sure he expected as much, but he gasped. "Congratulations." He choked on the simple word.

I turned to him with a strange expression on my face. "Do you believe she is out there for you, somewhere, anywhere, Edward?"

He sighed. "No, I'm fine just like this."

Carlisle smirked, pulling a black scarf around his neck. _Whatever you say._

* * *

"I, now, pronounce you Mr. And Mrs. Carlisle Cullen." Esme, eyes alight, squeezed my hand.

"I'm married." She marveled aloud. She seemed shocked a bomb hadn't fallen from the sky.

"Yes." I murmured. Three hundred years later, and I was married.

**My musical inspiration was: Starlight by Muse. Thanks for reading. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Seventy Years Later: **

As Esme laid her head in the grass, Carlisle gently secured a little, purple flower behind her ear. "There." He said. His voice held a quiet type of triumph, like maybe he was proud of himself for waiting this long. He took a spot behind Esme, casting a long shadow over her.

The silence was serenity after the complete chaos of their house. If someone, seventy years ago, would have said Carlisle would change two more people, then he would have chuckled politely and ran. Not only was a coven of seven large: it was huge. That would make the only other coven larger than their own the Volturri. And Carlisle was very familiar with the old saying: _if you play with fire, you are going to get burned. _

"What do you think?" Carlisle asked quietly. He raked his finger through the ends of Esme's hair; just allowing the silken strands to flirt with his fingertips. "Is Alice...?"

Esme's laugh was a beautiful tinkling of bells. "I wouldn't bet against Alice.." Esme allowed with a smirk to Carlisle, then, though, she became abruptly serious. "Relax Carlisle." She murmured to him. Esme rolled over and carefully got to her knees. Cradling his strong face in her palms, she let her thumbs slip to brush against his lips. "I think," Esme began. "That we must let him try for happiness." She sighed, painting his lips with a soft kiss. "We have all found happiness, Carlisle. Why shouldn't he be extended the same offer?"

Carlisle opened his almost black orbs. "I'm thirsty." He mumbled.

Esme's mouth dropped open. Not only was Carlisle the best about getting something to drink when he was thirsty. He rarely waited to the point where his eyes were black. Esme pushed her hands down to his front, cautiously, she asked with her eyes, undoing his shirt, and then sliding it off of his broad shoulders. Esme slipped into his lap, curling up to him like cat. "Carlisle..." she called quietly. Her voice soothed him immensely. Just the softest soprano, but not high enough to be unpleasant. Perfect for all of her faults, Esme was his other half. "Don't worry." Esme let her finger tips to glide over his muscles with an expert touch. "Please... for me?" Turning out her big golden eyes was low, she knew, but this worried Esme. Rarely had she seen him so worked up about something. "Edward is a man, Carlisle. Let him deal with this in his own way." Esme pressed a single kiss to his neck before feeling him fall back onto the grass. Esme spread out on top of him, letting her body align with his. "Do you remember what you told me?"

And he did, all of those years ago. "Forever, Esme."

All she did was repeat it. "Forever, Carlisle."

**This is it... the perfect ending, in my opinion, to my perfect little story. Thanks to my beta: Ocean of Dreams. Thanks to anyone kind enough to review. Thanks for everything... I am eternally grateful. **


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